Chapter 4 #2
Had he asked for it? Did he want those?
I swallow hard and realize he’s going into his room. I can’t see him in there.
“No,” I whisper, surprising myself.
Why? If he’s going to bed, I can go home. I can do the same. I can think about something else. Something other than Carmine Dresvanni.
I don’t want to.
I want to see him again.
Carmine disappears into his room, door closed, and the last thing I see is his shirt sliding off his shoulders before he’s no more.
He may as well not exist. But he does.
In my mind, he exists in clear and vivid detail.
Every single inch of him.
In my head, Carmine’s undone trousers with his cock hanging out, weeping and throbbing with overdone arousal is still fresh and exhilarating. A spark of heat travels along my own length and I shift in my seat.
How easily I could have taken advantage of the situation at the club. Carmine was practically a doll waiting to be fucked. He’d already spent himself with the other two, but…oh, what I could have done to him with my dick.
I could have turned him around and pulled his pants down to his thighs…
I find myself distracted by the brief fantasy of fucking Carmine from behind. Feeling his body curve back against my groin and torso. Hearing his desperate moaning and grunting. Would he be so stoic and confident with me railing him in that alleyway?
It would’ve been wrong. He was barely coherent. Regardless of what he’d done with the others.
Yet, I can’t help but think about how good it felt when I was practically carrying him to the car. His warm body against my chest, his cheek against my neck. His breath fluttering out against my skin.
I can still smell him on my jacket.
As my hard-on only grows, I quickly pull myself out of the fantasy and toss my phone to the side.
“Need to get home,” I mumble.
Or… find someone to replace the images of Carmine on his knees from my head.
For some reason, I decide to go home. Maybe because it would be difficult to find someone to hook up with on Christmas morning, but maybe not.
Either way, I leave the outer city Tessi Oscuri, and Tessari entirely, to my own domain.
The city I grew up in and have called home for almost thirty years.
It seems to pale in comparison to Tessari, and I wonder if my uncle feels the same.
That San Bueni is but a pile of rumble that he’s clinging to.
Getting in the way of inhereting even part of a city that glitters like a pearl.
I snort to myself.
No, both cities are rotting from the inside out. Pearl or not.
San Bueni has just been cracking and bursting at the seams far longer. The oozing hellscape of poverty and prejudice more difficult to hide.
Nevertheless, our own estate is tucked into a portion of the city that could still trick a tourist into thinking they’re somewhere beautiful and good. Tall cypress line the edges of the land and the smell of the sea lingers on the breeze even from a further distance than Tessari.
Something about the scent reminds me of Carmine. Something oddly sweet on the breeze. Or maybe it’s the bitterness. Like his breath soaked in alcohol and drugs the other night.
When I get inside, several members of my family—blood and otherwise—are gathered in the foyer with mugs of steaming beverages. I smell peppermint heavy in the air.
“Soren, we were worried you might not make it home in time,” Aunt Patricia tells me. Her wrinkled brow is even more so in her disappointment.
“Well, I’m here.” I wave an arm out. “In time for what?” I take my shoes and gloves off, but not my jacket.
Uncle Eivor comes rounding the corner dressed in a red and black suit and tie, a santa hat on his head with his name emborided on the front. If it weren’t for the nearly colorless orbs of his eyes and scars lining the left half of his face, he might actually look cheery.
“Opening presents, of course, Nephew,” he reminds me. “Being on the job is no excuse to miss such a wonderful occasion with your family.”
I look at him with a flat face, too tired to put up some happy attitude.
“What could you give me that I don’t already have?” I ask.
He chuckles and reaches over to hit me on the shoulder. I nearly flinch but catch myself. My skin crawls even at his touch on my jacket.
“Oh, so humble. I’m sure there’s plenty,” Patricia replies.
The way they take my words and turn them into something they like is never a surprise to me.
Rosalie is standing nearby with her own mug, wearing a pair of winter-themed blue and white pajamas. Of all of us, she looks almost normal. Her hair pulled up into a messy bun, her face all rosy. No scars, no blood, no reminds of what this all really is.
“Katherine and Liam are in the family room, and Julian will be back soon,” Rosalie explains.
“What about Beau and Nikolas?” I ask as I turn to walk down the hallway to the family room with my uncle, aunt, and sister. Two guards are stationed nearby. Louie and...another, whose name escapes me in my exhausted state.
“They’re still upstairs, they should be down soon,” Patricia says and clears her throat.
I smirk a bit. Clearly she knows about whatever has been going on between those two, or suspects it. Nikolas is my cousin, my uncle’s only child, and Beau is his best friend who was orphaned almost a decade ago. My uncle and aunt seem to be trending with adopting orphans…
I sit down on the couch and lean back, but quickly realize it’s far too comfortable and I’m going to pass out if ‘m not careful. So, I scoot forward and lean my elbows on my knees instead.
“Here,” Rosalie hands me a small gift, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“What? You said nothing big, that’s not big,” she insists.
I sigh and shake my head as I open it. It’s a gold chain with a charm on it. The charm a small moth with several diamonds in it. I hold the charm between my fingers. It’s so...delicate.
“It’s Mom’s charm. I know I got most of her jewlery when...well... and you’re not exactly the string of pearls type, but I thought I’d put the bracelet charm she always wore on a necklace for you,” Rosalie explains.
My throat is tight. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, especially my uncle. Those prying eyes...always trying to find a weakness in me. Always waiting for a moment of emotion.
I swallow it down.
“Thank you, Rose,” I say simply, and reach over to touch her hand for a second.
She nods.
I put the necklace back in the box, and leave the paper on the floor.
“Your present is under the tree.” I motion to the excessively large Christmas tree with crystal ornaments across the room. The presents look dwarfed under it.
Just as she gets up to get it, Julian walks in the room, still wearing his guard’s uniform of all black, looking flushed from the cold.
“Babe, you made it!” Rosalie smiles. She sits back down with all the gifts with her name on them.
“Oh, should you give Soren your gifts first?” she asks our uncle and aunt.
“We thought giving Soren the opprotunity to show he can handle relations between us and the Dresvannis is gift enough,” Eivor replies.
I believe him. There’s nothing about his voice or face that tells me he’s lying or pretending. It wouldn’t be the first time my “gift” was something completely out of my control or a test.
I just look at them, and then toward the fireplace, remembering why I’d much rather be in bed.
“He’s kidding,” Patricia says after a moment.
I blink and look at them, unable to hide the surprise in my expression completely.
Patricia hands me an envelope.
I open it up, where there’s a card. A fairly basic one, with a church and wreath on the front. Inside, my aunt has written in perfect cursive.
To our adopted son and nephew, you are irreplacable and incredibly brave.
Below that, their names were signed. I can tell my uncle had no hand in actually writing the message.
I look up at them, mainly Patricia, as if to gauge whether or not the message is genuine. I can’t tell.
Along with the card, is a gift card that reads for coffee, with a picture of various mugs of coffee and tea printed on the plastic card, along with three hundred dollars on the corner.
“For coffee...yeah, I’m gonna need this the next few weeks,” I agree. “Thanks.”
“You could show a little more appreciation there,” Eivor insists. “That’s several months’ worth of coffee at least. Unless you plan on wasting it on all the pansy ass milk coffee you like.”
My face falls. I don’t reply to him. I just stick the gift card in the inside pocket of my jacket and set the card to the side.
“Anything else?” I ask after a moment.
The next second, Beau and Nikolas come in together, just seconds after the other. Looking a bit flushed, but mostly well dressed.
“Did we miss anything?” Beau asks.
“Nothing much. Come sit down,” Rosalie insists, patting the seats next to her.
Beau sits, but Nikolas remains standing nearby.
“Did you get Soren a gift?” Patricia asks.
“Ah, yeah, but it’s not here yet,” Nikolas replies.
“It’s from both of you?” Uncle Eivor asks, raising a brow.
Beau flushes deeper. “Um, yeah. We decided to pool our money.”
“You know you don’t have to use your own money,” Patricia scolds him with a chuckle.
I zone out for a moment or two. No one is talking to me. I think I’m referenced once or twice, but my brain is slowly growing more and more unable to process anything going on.
I finally fade back in when Rosalie asks about my gift to her.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
She tears the paper open, opens the box, and pulls out a pale purple knit sweater.
“Wow!” she holds it up to her chest. “This is beautiful, is it handmade, Soren?” she asks, her eyes lit up with happiness.
“Yup. By a little old lady in Greece. Ordered it last year, got it a month ago,” I explain. My voice seems to drag a bit.
“It’s stunning. Thank you, Sor.” She smiles at me.
“Doesn’t she have enough clothing?” Eivor asks, not to her but me.
I shrug and avoid making eye contact with him.
“This is going to look so good for out next date,” she says, turning toward Julian.